we argued for a while over which game to play—or not play.
We took a break from the vodka to have a round of wine and beer.
Then we started playing “The Game of Things…” which basically consisted of one person, the “reader,” saying a topic, then all of us including the reader writing down a (usually crass) response to that topic on a piece of paper, along with our name, then handing the papers to the reader, who read them out loud.
We then went around the circle and had to guess who wrote each twisted response. It was seriously the simplest game that even me, drunk, could follow, but with this particular group of people, it was dirty as fuck.
No one owned the actual game, so we also had to make up our own topics, which didn’t help.
And we ran repeatedly off topic. Like way off topic.
For example, the topic “Things you should never say to a woman after you fuck her” somehow ended up in an argument over whether or not men should be allowed to wear bikini bathing suits.
I had no idea how we got there. The vodka was going down too easy.
Incidentally, all of us said yes to that particular question, except Xander. But then again, all of us were sexually attracted to men, except Xander.
“You’re just saying that because your man is fit,” Xander challenged Danica. “I’m saying picture, like, the average man, and if that’s not enough, picture the very unattractive, unfit, aging, hairy man in that same bikini, and tell me your answer is still yes.”
“I’m not here to body shame anyone,” Danica said simply. “Age and body hair are not a crime. And beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So my answer is still yes.”
“Should only fit women wear bikinis in public?” I challenged Xander.
“Can’t wait to hear this,” Matt said.
Ash chuckled.
Xander considered, then concluded, “I’m not answering that. This room is too hostile.”
We laughed and did another shot.
“So,” I said, unwilling to let it go, “in your mind, only people you find attractive should wear bikinis in public?”
“In a perfect world,” Xander said carefully, “yes.”
“Well, I’m here to tell ya,” I said, topping up my wine, “the world ain’t perfect, and it also ain’t yours.”
“Don’t give her a hard time,” Danica told him. “She’s having a rough day.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Xander said.
“You just sitting there on the couch is giving someone a hard time,” Ash said, and Matt snorted.
“Why?” Xander said.
“Because you basically exist to irritate other humans.”
Xander smirked.
“We’re all here for you, Taylor,” Ash said solemnly, passing me another shot as Matt poured a round. “Why don’t you just tell us what’s wrong?”
I met Danica’s eyes, and she gave me a hopeful look, like, Why not just tell them? We’re all friends here.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s no big deal, you guys. I’m just tired. And I kinda had a fight with my boss.” I shot back my vodka and nibbled on a pickle.
“Oh, shit,” Ash said. “Cary?”
“Yeah. Cary. It’s fine, though. It was just… shitty. He’s…” I struggled for the right words as they all sat there, looking at me. The words that would explain why I looked like this, without totally giving away my feelings. I wasn’t sure that Cary would like me telling everyone he knew that we had an intimate relationship. That conversation hadn’t come up yet. So far, our relationship was like everything else in his life—it only existed inside his home. Courteney knew, because I’d told her, but that was it. “He’s just cool. I really like him. I feel bad that I screwed up.”
“I’m sure you didn’t screw up,” Xander said, which was nice of him. “Cary can be pretty private. He might just need some time to chill out.”
“Thanks. That’s what Courteney said.”
“She kinda told me,” Xander said. And I could see it, in his eyes. He knew. Courteney told him. “He locked you out of the studio, huh?”
“Yeah. I don’t wanna talk about it right now, though.”
“Cary’s cool,” Matt put in. “I like him.”
“How does that help?” Xander said.
“He is cool,” Ash said. “He’s also fucking hot.” Which really didn’t help, either.
Xander rolled his eyes. “You and Summer, Christ. ‘He’s so talented.’ ‘He’s so gorgeous.’ ‘I want to spread him on a cracker.’”
“Huh?” I said. “Who said that?”
“Actually, that was me,” my best friend said. She gave me an apologetic smile. “I think we were drunk and eating Nutella out of a jar when Cary’s name came up? Hard to